


Heatwave

by Fletcher_is_a_fangirl



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell, Fangirl - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow series - Gemma T. Leslie
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Baz is a tease, Bottom Baz, But they sort it out, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, POV Alternating, POV Baz, POV Simon, Simon & Baz - Freeform, Simon is confused, Smut, The authour drank too much wine but regrets nothing, Top Simon, carry on
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-22
Updated: 2016-05-29
Packaged: 2018-06-09 22:53:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6927235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fletcher_is_a_fangirl/pseuds/Fletcher_is_a_fangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set a few months after the end of Carry On. Baz is sneakily working Simon's hormones up - but just because Simon doesn't go off magically anymore doesn't mean he won't crack under pressure...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Definitely stayed up too late working on this, so I haven't exactly edited it. Let me know if I've left any errors in there!
> 
> Because I am incapable of hopping right into the action, Chapter 1 is not worthy of it's E rating. However, we'll get there, my lovelies.

               Simon

                Baz has become a master of touching me. It's an almost constant, surprisingly subtle background language to our time together - a hand running down my arm when he approaches and stands beside me; the ghost of his fingertips just above my waistband when he passes by behind me; a cool hand rubbing my wings when we're sitting beside each other, paying attention to something else. We'll be holding hands and he'll suddenly run his thumbnail across my palm, leaving me clutching at his hand even tighter, trying to satisfy the sudden ache he's left me with. It's gotten to the point where I'm hyper aware of where he is at all times - even his breath on my neck has me blushing and my heartbeat kicking up.

               So yeah, Baz has become a sneaky master of touching me. What I can't tell is if it's on _purpose_.  
 

               Every move he makes is almost painfully casual, as if he's not even thinking about it. As if we've been playing happy boyfriends for years instead of months. But Baz, in spite of exuding nonchalance like it was his own invention, is probably the least casual person I know. And I don't have the best track record when it comes to attention to detail or realizing what Baz is up to; so even when I think he can't _possibly_ be doing this to me unintentionally, I doubt myself.

 

              But Merlin, it's making me go mental. It's bad enough on days where I only get to see him for a few hours, after which he's tied my insides into knots of frustration and aching that no amount of wanking can completely erase; it's even worse on days when we spend most of our time together, when hours and hours of his fingertips and breath and shoulder bumps and cool hands work me into a state and I can't help but pull him out of Penny's sight or into alleyways or behind trees and get him properly under my hands. You'd think Baz would be the biter in our relationship. He's not. It's very definitely me. On the bright side, vampires are very hard to bruise. (Not impossible. Love bites can leave a mark on the coolest of vampires, if you work at it enough. And I do.) But it's getting to the point that no matter how much we're snogging, I still feel like I have a fire inside me that I'm barely keeping contained. His sleepovers, rare though they are, kind of help; it's a bit embarrassing how much bliss I get from sharing a bed with Baz. After the first time I woke up with him in my arms, I thought there was nothing else I could possibly need in my life (scones and butter excepted). But after last time - Baz, our legs entwined, waking me up by stretching luxuriously, pressing his whole body against mine. Giving a satisfied sigh that might have just been morning but also sounded exquisitely dirty (is it me? It might just be me?) to me and leaving a lingering kiss on my neck before slipping away - Nicks and Slicks. He was back at his flat the next night, but my bed smelled of him and I didn't sleep a wink.

 

               Baz 

                I spent eight years being slowly tortured and tantalized by sharing a room with Simon Snow. It's the least I can do to pay it back, now.

                If I'm completely honest, it didn't start out as wicked in intent as it is now; I also spent nearly twenty years believing happy endings were for fairy tales alone and that the closest I'd get to intimacy with Snow would be when he finally put me out of my misery. (Although you could argue he _has_ put me out of my misery, I don't think I can be blamed for not believing this would be his method.) The first few times I ran my hands over him, shaky inside with the effort of being completely casual, I was doing it in part just to see - to see if he really wanted me, I guess. No matter how many times he pulls me down and lays his lips on mine I still can't quite believe it. So I tested it, running my fingers across his lower back as I walked past him into the kitchen, already moving by in case he didn't react at all- or worse.

                Instead, he gave a half gasp as he straightened up and shot me a _look_ with the kind of heat I could feel even when I stepped into the kitchen.

                Well then.

                And so it's become my little game, though I'm winning in every sense of the word. I am perpetually touching Simon Snow, and he's perpetually hot and bothered _for me_ , which is more delightful by far than the angry hot and bothered I specialized in before Christmas. And now when he goes off, it's to snog me to within an inch of my life, not to set something on fire. I think we can all agree it's an improvement.

                However - I spent eight years being tantalized by sharing a room with Simon Snow. I am _still_ being tantalized by occasionally sharing a room with Simon Snow. And Simon is doing so, so well with therapy (whatever works for him) and his dragon wings and coping with his magic loss better than I would have thought possible, and I _won't_ ever do anything to jeopardize that. I may be an exceptionally fit example of a half-dead young adult, with all of the frustrations and feelings ones late teen years typically bring, but I cannot push my boyfriend into going any further than he is absolutely comfortable with. He is dealing with a lot, and if it came down to it, I really don't think I would do anything unless I was really sure it was what he wanted.

                He may have given me blue balls more than I'd like to admit, but eight years of rooming with Snow has also given me _exceptional_ willpower.

  
               So I won't push.

                No one said anything about not trying to pull, though.

 

               Simon  


               It’s stupidly, humidly, horrendously hot in London tonight. And because I am an idiot, I've got my laptop in bed, pumping heat into the already uncomfortable room. But I'm actually caught up in Uni, and Penny's visiting family for the weekend, and I have nothing to do but suffer the heat while watching old episodes of Dr. Who. If I'm going to be overheated, it might as well be for a worthwhile cause. 

I'm sprawled across my bed in nothing but my pants when I hear a key jiggling in the apartment door. I hit pause and roll off to grab some trousers - could be Penny home early; she can't always stand the whole weekend if all of her siblings are home at the same time. Premal is still touchy about her role in the Mage's death; he took it worse than she did, which is hardly fair. 

 "Hey, Pen-" I call, striding out into the flat. "Oh," I say, and grin. It's not Penny. It's Baz. 

Baz

 I've made a _terrible_ mistake coming over, and I know it as soon as Snow kicks out into the living room shirtless. There's a sheen on his skin, compliments of the godawful humidity no doubt, and his curls are tumbled wantonly. (I'm thinking wantonly. The curls are fine but I am, abruptly, not.) He's stepping out towards me, and his bicep is flexing as he runs his hand through his curls (definitely wanton curls) and I've just fed but suddenly, confusingly, I'm hungry. I suspect it is not food I'm after. I'm usually fine in a heat wave - hello, vampire skin - but apparently, this one is going to get to me. 

 

Simon 

 Baz leans back on the door, shutting it. He's got a vaguely troubled look on his face - only half sneer, which is 50% less than usual. Perhaps the heat is getting to him, too. 

 "Bunce isn't here, is she?" He asks. Swallowing. 

 "No, she's gone to her parents for the weekend," I reply. He swallows again. Maybe he's hungry? I've left my cross off - I didn't know he was coming, and I don't wear it very often anyhow, now- and getting close to anyone when he's hungry can sometimes make him uncomfortable. 

 "I can tell," he says, shaking off whatever was bugging him. "You're more slovenly than usual. Put a shirt on, Simon, this isn't a brothel." 

 I'm already close to him - he moves to take a step toward the kitchen, but I slam my hands out, pinning him to the door. "But it could be," I purr. His eyes widen, and I'm rewarded with another slow swallow. I lean closer, my hands still flat against the door on either side of him. I hover over his shoulder, almost close enough to kiss his neck, until he gives off the slightest of shivers. "You've been doing this a lot to me, haven't you," I say, running my fingertips along his jawline and letting my thumb linger on his chin. I tilt his head down towards me, whispering in his ear. "This hovering and fingertips business. I think you're up to something, _Basilton_." 

 "You always think I'm up to something-" he chokes out, his voice cutting off when I take his earlobe between my teeth. I suck it, gently, then release it with a tug. 

 "And you called me Simon. Just now." 

 I lick his neck, sucking at a spot I know is sensitive. He moans. 

 "I'm positive I did not," he says, his voice breathy. I grin into his neck, eyeing the hands he's currently using to grip the wall, as though he needs the help to stay steady. 

 "Right, Baz. My mistake," I say, switching to nibbling his jaw. "I wonder what it would take for you to call me Simon?" 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is it just me or are these boys incredibly fluffy? But also, those teenage hormones will get you in the end...

Baz  


               Trouble. Deep trouble.

               “I think it slips out sometimes, when you’re… _distracted_.” Simon murmurs, working his way along my jaw and back to my tingling earlobe. I can't quite seem to even out my breathing enough to deny it.

  
               He's sucking on my earlobe again, and I didn't know that was an erogenous zone but fuck _me_ that feels good. He slides his hands down the wall and onto my hips, pulling me up against him by my belt loops. My groan is caught up in his mouth as he moves to my lips, snaring me in a kiss that's surprisingly gentle even as his grip on my waist tightens. He's in pajama bottoms, and I can feel him hardening against me. I'm not far behind. Simon slides his hands up, cupping my jaw and teasing my mouth open with his. I clench my hands into fists against the door - this isn't new territory for us, but I do usually make it farther inside than the doorway.

                As if he's read my mind, Snow steps back. I've lost the ability to use knees, so I stay melting against the doorway until he grabs at my button up shirt and pulls me into the room.

                "What's the matter, Baz, cat got your tongue?" He asks, grinning at me while I wobble. Cheeky bugger.

                "Dragon boy, actually," I reply, licking my lips. He smirks at me, and our eyes meeting raises the heat in the already unbearable apartment perceptibly. I try to concentrate on the wall behind him rather than staring at him. The sight of him shirtless and glistening is doing dreadful, wonderful things to me, and he didn't give me a moment to compose myself. I'm going to do dreadful, wonderful things to him if I can't get a grip on myself. (If I do get a grip on him.) (I'd rather get a grip on him.)  
  
  

                 Simon  

                 I can see Baz struggling for composure, so I undo his top button. I love him like this- it's so rare to see him flustered, out of control for even a moment. I never felt like much of a Chosen One at Watford, but Baz being soft around me, _that_ makes me feel special. He’s frozen, as if mesmerized by my trick of pulling at buttons to make skin appear.

                “You’re wearing entirely too much clothes, Baz. It’s a furnace out there. You should shed a few layers, and relax,” I say, kissing the skin as it’s revealed.

                 “This is hardly _relaxing_ , Snow,” He replies drily, but he starts to undo the buttons I haven’t gotten to yet. His hands are jittery. I lay a hand on the flat planes of his stomach, and the muscles quiver under my touch. He’s as jumpy as he’s made me the past few months. Merlin, if this is what it’s like for him, I can see why he does it – the reaction is _delightful_.

                “Oh, I’m sorry, I’d assumed that was what you were doing when you were doing _this_ – _”_ I pull him closer again, one hand a stone grip behind his back and the other tracing my fingertips as lightly as feathers over the skin of his back. A trail of goosebumps follows where my fingers brush. “Or _this_ – _”_ I run a hand through his silky hair, slowly, gently. I cup his neck in my hand. His eyes closed, he’s let his head fall back, and his throat is gloriously exposed. I can see his pulse dancing and I’m betting it’s not just the weather that’s got him worked up. “And _this_ – _”_ I say, tracing my thumb over his lips. He lets them part under my thumb and I make the motion linger. “You know, making sure I knew you were there for me. _Relaxing_ me.” My voice is as heavy and heated as the room feels.

                “I am _excruciatingly_ aware of where you are, Snow,” Baz replies, still not opening his eyes. “ _Agonizingly_ attentive of everything you’ve touched.” He tilts his head back forward, letting his hair fall across his face and cast shadows. He peers at me from underneath it. “But I’ve been excruciatingly aware of you for years, Si… Snow.” He coughs. “You can hardly blame me for wanting to return the favour.”

                “Baz. There’s only been eight weeks since we met where I didn’t know where you were, and _that_ was excruciating,” I say, lacing my fingers in his.

                His eyes bore into mine, and something softens between us. He leans forward, slowly, and kisses me, at first just a brush of the lips, but then deeply and with a thoroughness that leaves both of us panting a bit.

                “Never again,” he says, pressing his forehead to mine. “And I would apologize for all the hovering and fingertips business, as you put it, if it weren’t for the fact that I am completely and totally unrepentant for that.” I snort.

                “Why have you been doing it, though? I mean, I get the appeal,” I say, tracing my fingers as lightly as I can over the stomach exposed by his opened button up. We both smile when he shivers. “Is it just habit, to try and drive me batty?”

                “Yes,” he says quickly, but he blushes. I raise an eyebrow, and run my hand up from his stomach to his chest. His heartbeat is still fast.

               “Baz,” I warn, rubbing his chest. His nipples are hard. Without taking my eyes off of his, I run my thumb over one, then take it gently between my thumb and forefinger. He bites his bottom lip, and it’s all I can do to keep from kissing him.

                “I don’t think you’re being entirely honest, Baz…” I say. And I pinch.

                He bites down harder on his lip, but a moan still escapes him. I run my nails down his chest, and he sways into me. He grips my hips as I start to thumb his other nipple. “Use your words, Baz,” I croon, this time twisting a bit as I pinch. He gasps and throws his head back. I lean down and take his tortured nipple in my mouth, swirling around the peak with my tongue. Baz hisses. I run my hands down his back, cupping his ass with my hands as I kiss and nip my way lower, until I’m on my knees in front of him. He laces his hands through my hair and grips as I kiss his lower stomach. He has a light treasure trail running from his navel down, and I lick along it. His knees start to sway and I blow on the wet trail I’ve left, making him shiver and moan. “If you don’t confess,” I threaten, making sure I’m close enough for him to feel my hot breath through his trousers, “teasing is all you’ll get.”

                “ _Crowley,_ Snow,” He hisses, kneading his hands in my hair.

                “Simon,” I correct, and he arches an eyebrow at me.

                “I…” He starts, blushing again. He’s clearly fed well – the blushes are not my only clue. “I, ah, haven’t wanted to push you into going further than we have if you’re not ready, and I’m perfectly happy with what we _have_ done, really, but I… ah… I _do_ want to sleep together. So… teasing,” He finishes, lamely.

                “We have slept together,” I say, blinking at him as innocently as I can from my knees. He rolls his eyes.

                “You know what I mean.”

                I do. I stand, taking his hand and leading him around the couch and towards my room. “D’y’know, I’ve been stocking my bedside with condoms and lube for at _least_ a month now,” I say, casually. His hand spasms in mine. “And I’ve been reading up on the subject. I have a beautiful, magical boyfriend, after all. Bit of a prick, but, well, I’ve discovered I rather like that.” I turn as I step through the doorway, kicking the door shut once I’ve got Baz inside. There’s a fan on, and his open shirt flutters in the breeze. His breathing is emphasizing his stomach muscles, and the knot in my abdomen tightens in response. I push him backwards, none to gently, and he drops onto my messy bed. The sight of him, chiseled and perfect, lying back amongst the wreckage of my sheets gives my heart a squeeze.                

               “Tell me what you mean, Baz,” I say, crawling onto the bed and kneeling over him. I run my hand over his abs, sneaking my pinky finger under his waist band. I drop down to lean on one hand, my other arm sliding around his thin frame, pulling his hips up towards mine. I twist into him as he arches into me, his fingers digging into my back. “Tell me what you mean.” He moans, and I sit back on my feet, pulling him up with me so we’re kissing, wrapped around each other, a tangle of limbs and tongues and tufts of silky black hair mixing with auburn curls. Baz loops his arms under my armpits and crushes me into him, his mouth a fever dream I don’t want to wake up from. “I want to hear you say it,” I whisper when we break for air. Our eyes are locked and I’m running my thumb along those cheekbones that look like they could cut you and it feels like anything interrupting our gaze would catch fire. Baz uncurls one arm from me and goes to lean back when suddenly the _Bweeeooooo!_ of the Dr. Who theme song blares out from the laptop behind him.

                “What the fuck!” Baz yells, jumping towards me as much as he can with me reaching past him to slam the laptop shut. His jump upsets me just enough to have me missing entirely, and instead of hitting the laptop I hit floor with a thud. Baz kicks out at the noise, and my laptop comes flying at me, smacking me in the shoulder I’d managed not to land on. I lay flat, dazed. Baz is immediately at the side of the bed – “Oh crud, Snow, sorry, shit!” and he drops down to the floor beside me, placing a hand worryingly on my heaving chest. “Are you alright?” He asks, looking concerned. As my breath comes slowly back, my laughter becomes audible, and Baz sits back a bit and shakes his head. He chuckles, but my laughter turns to a wheezing kind of giggle which sets him off, and soon both of us are laughing properly.

                I pull the laptop off me and set it aside, safely quiet now. Sitting back up, I run my hand up Baz’s shin while he wipes at his eyes.

               “Really, Snow, are you ok?”

                “Fine,” I reply, grinning ruefully. “You’ve given me better wallops than that. Staircases, for example, come to mind.”

                “Your issue is with gravity, not with me,” Baz protests, but he reaches out to squeeze my shoulder gently. I stand up, pulling him with me, and we sit on the bed, facing each other.

               “Merlin,” I moan, flopping down. “Sorry about that. I forgot completely what I was doing before you came round.”

                “It’s alright,” Baz replies, leaning down on one elbow beside me. “I’ve always wanted the opportunity to kick you out of bed.” I grin at him, and he nuzzles closer to me. A cool hand runs up my bare chest, and it’s my turn to shiver. “What you said about your stockpile,” Baz says, quietly. “Is that true?” I suddenly feel warmer all over, and it has little to do with the weather changing. I nod. Baz rubs his lips, a nervous habit I think he picked up from covering his mouth so much. “Are you sure about this?” He asks, hesitantly.

                I grab him by the back of his neck and mash my mouth onto his. It’s a mess of a kiss, but I want to leave no doubts about my enthusiasm. Baz pushes back, giving as good as he gets until both of us are panting. I have my hands in his hair, and I tease open his mouth with my tongue, kissing him as deeply as I’m able. He sucks on my tongue, and I moan into his mouth, moving one hand down to pull him on top of me. I tug on his hair, just hard enough for it to sting, and he throws his head back, exposing throat, which I nip and suck on. I can feel more than hear the hum in his throat. “Snow,” he whispers, and I’m not even sure he means me to hear him. “Crowley.” He runs both hands up my chest, pushing me back into the bed. He leans over me, his hair tickling my face as he presses his cheek against mine, his lips at my ear. “I want you to fuck me, Snow.”

                _Merlin_. I buck my hips, flipping us so that I’m on top, pinning his hands down with my own. His hair looks like spilled ink on my pillow, and his grey eyes are swirling like storm clouds, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything more beautiful in my life.

                “I’m going to make you call me Simon,” I growl. “I’m going to make you _scream_ it.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snow’s mouth is on mine, and I’m going to have to take back everything I’ve said about him being crap at elocution because this technique is _flawless_. Words might not be his things but these lips are wasted on words; his kisses are like singing and I am being blown away by the chorus.

**Baz**

Snow’s mouth is on mine, and I’m going to have to take back everything I’ve said about him being crap at elocution because this technique is _flawless_. Words might not be his things but these lips are wasted on words; his kisses are like singing and I am being blown away by the chorus.  

Snow’s wings are spread out above us, filtering the light so it’s soft and speckled and I feel like we’ve been transported from his messy room to somewhere only the two of us have ever existed. Somewhere where I can say things like _I want you to fuck me_ , and where Simon says things like _I’ll make you scream_ and where I’m already too far gone to care about him saying out loud things he’s only said in my dreams up till now. (Maybe he’s not as crap with words as he thinks.) (That last sentence was pretty… effective).  

I arch my back, pressing myself against him, as he’s still got my hands pinned down in a vice grip. He’s sitting on my hips, holding some of his weight on his legs so that every time he shifts it sends a new thrill though my cock. Even though he’s on top of me, fingers laced in mine, tongue dancing with my own, there’s an ache inside of me for him that never seems satiated. I squeeze his hands harder, and he retaliates by pulling my arms over my head and pinning my wrists together in one of his warm, rough hands. I could escape if I really wanted to, but Snow is like a drug and I’m far past my rate of tolerance. He has my surrender, again and again. _I want you,_ I whisper through my kisses. I twist my hips up into his, grinding my hardness against him.  

He moans and sits up, his tail rubbing the inside of my thigh in a _thoroughly_ distracting manner.  

“Why do you always have so many _clothes_ on?” He bemoans, pulling at the arms of my button up. His tail laces itself around my leg. I sit up to help him pull off my shirt, and he takes the opportunity to rip off my undershirt over my head. “Baz,” He purrs, running his hands over my bare back. The sudden exposure and his skin on mine leave a trail of goosebumps wherever his hands have been.“You’re beautiful, Baz.”   The goosebumps are everywhere. Snow’s hands are everywhere. My skin vibrates, my whole body set to a volume I haven’t used before. Snow’s hands move down to my crotch, and I hiss, trying not to lose it then and there. He undoes the button, kissing me to distract me – it’s appreciated but if he thinks anything can distract me from where his hands are _oh gods Snow god –_ and suddenly I’m in nothing but my pants, and if it weren’t for the magic of his wings and this separate place in space and time I think I might be terrified.  

I think I might be terrified.  

I scoot back a bit, and he lets me, slowly shaking his head without taking his eyes off me. As if he can’t believe his good fortune. I can see his chest heaving; I can see the bulge of his cock through his pajamas, and the knowledge sends a thrill though me. _Simon._ I bite my lip, and he moans. I can’t believe how I affect him. That I’ve as much power over him as he’s had over me for years. I tilt my head, looking at him coyly.“Now who’s overdressed, Snow?” I say. Without breaking eye contact, Simon pulls off his pajamas. He sticks a thumb in the waistband of his pants and arches an eyebrow at me. I lick my lips and nod.  

He disrobes.  

Simon is the prayer I’ve been saying before I sleep. Snow is the dream I’ve been dreaming for years, every night I lay across from him, a few feet and an ocean apart with an ache I wouldn’t name aloud. I abruptly have half the breath and twice the heartbeat.  

And he kisses me.  

My hands sweep over him, gloriously uninterrupted by fabric. The heat of him is unbearable, almost punishing in this weather, but I glory in it. I want to be pinned beneath him forever. I dig my fingers into his glorious arse, and he bites down on my bottom lip, and I’m pressing myself into him, both desperately afraid of and desperately wanting _more more more._ He claws down my back, then holds my hips down into his mattress, pinning me while he kisses me. I’m pulling his face down by his hair, twisting up into his hands, because I don’t need dignity when I have Snow, but he holds me down as he works his lips lower, lower. Over my neck; I’m tilting my head, hissing. Down to my collarbone; I shudder as he runs his teeth along it. His warm hands move up to encompass my ribcage and his hot mouth moves down to my nipples, already sensitive, and he circles one with his tongue while I spasm beneath him. His hands are pushing my shoulders down, into the bed, while he’s leaving hickeys on my stomach, and I feel like time is a concept I’ve lost entirely as I stare up at his ceiling, seeing nothing but feeling everything. Feeling his hands run back down my sides; feeling his bedspread in my grip; feeling my hands twist it as I raise my hips and he pulls off the last of my clothes. Feeling his breath on my stomach. His hand on my thigh. His lips – just to the left of me, as I throb, unbearably. A kiss. I can’t keep my hips still. And now on the right; his tongue on my skin, tracing a line beside me, higher, higher… I start to exhale, a violin stung tightly but unplayed, when suddenly his mouth is _on_ me, sucking the tip of me, swirling around with that magic tongue, and one hand runs over my backside while the other circles my cock and starts to slowly stroke me deeper into his mouth. My whole world narrows to the heat and slickness of this, this bed is the universe and I’m orbiting Snow’s every motion as he sucks and strokes and fondles. _Crowley._ The heat of his mouth is overwhelming, and the motion of his tongue has me digging my fingernails into my palms to keep me from losing it too soon. And his hands, both on my arse now, pulling apart my cheeks, his hands feel like a shout in a language I haven’t learned but desperately want to know.  One hand disappears and I hear the snap of a bottle of lube opening, but Snow bobs his head and takes me all the way into his mouth and I can’t think of anything beyond this until he touches me with his teeth on the way back up, a terrifying distraction that at least takes me back from the edge. He shifts, sitting up on his knees, leaving my shaft wet and throbbing in the air. He pulls me up onto his lap and I wrap my arms around him, melting into his kiss while he runs his suddenly cold fingers down my arse and over the entrance there. I shiver, and he pulls me tighter to him, spreading my legs with his knees. The lube warms under his fingers, and he pauses, his fingers pressing on me but not inside. We haven’t crossed this line before. He leans his head back, his lips still wet and reddened from his attentions to me earlier, and questions me with his eyes. Meeting his eyes, I shift, slowly, slowly, pressing myself down on his fingers. Simon pulls my head forward and presses his forehead to mine, running his thumb along my cheekbone as he slides a finger inside of me. I moan, arching my back and pressing my hips down onto his hand, and he leans us both back so we fall into the bed, keeping his hand well between my legs. He pulls his finger halfway out, making me whimper, and pours more lube on, pressing in deeper than before. I’m trying to keep my cool but my body betrays me, writhing under and into him, an ache coiling in my belly, making me want to beg for more. He curls his finger, and I shiver, overwhelmed by the sensation of him pressing inside of me. His lips travel back up my chest as he starts to tease me, pulling in and out, and I push up onto my elbows to kiss him, moaning into his lips when he hits a particularly good spot. He’s using his other hand to stroke himself, making long, slow, motions, but I brush my hand against his and he lets go, letting me take over. He’s hot to the touch, and so hard, iron clothed in silk. I run my hand up and down, mimicking his motion, squeezing with surprise when he simultaneously twists my nipple lightly with one hand and slides a second finger inside of me with another. I’d honestly expected this to hurt, but so far all it’s doing is making me want more. More of this. More of him.  

“Tell me what you want, Baz,” he whispers, as if on cue. His voice is rough and low and lighting fires inside me.  

“More,” I whisper back, thrusting up so our hips are bumping together, feeling my hardness against his own. “ _More_.” He slides a third finger in, slowly, stretching me exploratorily, and I pull him down to me, kissing him with all the need that’s wracking me. He curls his fingers inside me, pressing against me in a way that feels so good I might lose it here and now. I do lose my hips, grinding up against him in a way I can’t even pretend to control, half mindless with the need for more, something more, a pit of fire in my stomach as my need for him eats at me. My cock twitches in time with his fingers, and when he pulls out, the loss is so great I have to choke back a cry. I whimper, twisting against him, and his gives a breathless laugh as he breaks open a condom packet, pinching the tip and unrolling over himself, then angling the head of his penis against my hole, which is still quivering from his fingers.  

“Tell me what you want, Baz,” He says again, voice rough. He nudges against me, and I moan, wanting it more than words can say. He doesn’t move, frozen in a war between lust and stubbornness. “Baz,” he chokes, half whimper and half warning. I twist again, desperate to feel him in me, to have him fill me. He presses into me, just the very tip, and holds himself there, cruel and unyielding to my moans and whimpers.  

“Simon!” I yell, caving completely. “Gods, Simon, please!” I say, pulling at the muscles in his back, pushing my hips down. And suddenly, finally, blissfully he _moves_ , pushing into me, slow and inexorable and _delicious_ and I could almost cry again but with the rightness of it. He’s stretching me, incredibly hot and incredibly thick but for the first time the pool of lust in my stomach starts to churn like it might have met its match and I press myself down on him wanting more, deeper, more, not even recognizing my voice when I moan because there’s so much satisfaction in it. He buries himself in me, pulling me closer into his arms, every inch of himself pressed up against me.

“Holy _fuck,_ Baz,” he whispers, and we’re both quivering. I feel hot and stretched and _full_ and like fire is loving me back, and I don’t want to move, don’t want to break the spell. And then Simon starts to move, starts to pull out and I protest, digging claws into his back, but then he thrusts back in and it’s _incredible_ and impossibly things start to feel even better and he moves again and who said the man didn’t have rhythm and holy fuck is right and what even are these sounds I’m making and don’t stop please dear god do not stop and just like _that_ and fuck Simon fuck fuck fuck and the heat that was inside me builds and spreads and coils and I’m leaving claw marks on his back I’m sure but he’s leaving bite marks on my shoulder and oh _Simon_ and I didn’t know my hips could move like that but _fuck_ me and he _does_ and oh – my –  

And I’m spilling onto our stomachs, pressed together, the heat that’s been in my stomach suddenly satiated and radiating out through all my limbs, tuning me to jelly, and Simon is shuddering against me, collapsing onto me, breathing deeply, whispering my name over and over like it’s a miracle he hasn’t seen before.  “Well,” I say, when I can speak again. He mumbles into my skin, throwing a leg over me. I poke him.  

“I like it,” he says. “When you call me Simon.”

“It was subtle, but I got that hint, yes,” I reply, my eyes closed, lying back on his pillows. “I like it too.” He grins into my still naked skin. 

Thunder booms across the city, and seconds later, we can hear the rain begin to pour. The heat wave finally broken. I tuck my head up against Snow’s and let the rain lull us both to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did we edit this? No, we sure did not. Did we drink a decent amount of wine and stay up to 2 am to write this so that our in laws would not be reading over our shoulders during their visit? Why yes, we sure did! Let me know if there are errors, or missteps, or if you liked it! We want to know that too ;) 
> 
> Happy summer heatwave season to you all!


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